Switched
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Dean and Sam switch bodies.
1. Chapter 1

OK, this is the first SN fic I'm posting on this site (but certainly not the first I've ever writting) and I hope that you guys read and review. I'm gonna put up all the cahpters at once soI don't forget to update.

Basically, the summary says it all. Dean and Sam switch bodies. Very little chaos ensues, but it's still a fun story.

Disclaimer: If I owned SN do you think I'd be writing these stories here? They'd be episodes by now. Please don't sue me.

* * *

Rivers, Maine

Keira Collins ran as fast as her twelve-year-old legs could carry her. He mother must have told her a thousand times to stay out of the warehouses nestled deep in the heart of Rivers, but she had gone anyway.

Now she just wished that she could see her mother one last time, if only to say good-bye. Even though they'd had a fight, one of the worst yet, she still loved her mother more than anyone.

After her father, a real deadbeat, according to mom, had left, Lily Collins had raised baby Keira, now a rebellious pre-teen, all on her own. Sure, they'd had their share of fights, but what family hasn't? It was all part of the typical mother-daughter relationship.

But now the girl was sure that the end was near. She'd just wanted to get away, to hang out in a forbidden area, to find a place to think about her life. She hadn't known she'd stumble across the grizzled, dark-robed creature that was now chasing her.

Keira's legs pumped, her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat. She was slowing down, running out of vital energy. Her pursuer knew it.

The girl stopped running, sweat pouring down her brow, her ragged breath hitching. "What do you want?" she gasped, thankful to get a chance to catch her breath before the thing attacked.

The figure approached slowly, and evil grin spreading across its wrinkled, slightly feminine face, its black robe billowing in the tiny breeze that rustled through the warehouse. "Simple," it hisses in a barely audible voice as it wrapped clawed fingers around Keira's small shoulders and lifted her into the air, "your soul."

The creature opened its mouth wide and inhaled deeply, drawing a bright green vapor from the screaming girl's mouth. The warehouse soon fell silent.


	2. Chapter 2

The jet black Chevy Impala, almost 40 years old, sped down the road, Simple Plan blaring from the speakers. The driver leaned forward and quickly flipped the station, settling for some good old Rock 'n' Roll.

"Honestly, Sammy," he muttered, turning his attention back to the highway, "your taste in music sucks. I mean, 'Welcome to my Life?' What the hell his _that_?"

"At least you can understand the words," Sam, the driver's younger brother, shot back, "and it was your own fault I got to choose the station anyway. I believe the agreement was that I would get to choose the music if you again neglected to tell me where we going and why. Now come on, Dean, spill. What's up?"

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "In a small town in Maine a little girl was recently found dead in an abandoned warehouse. One of dad's old friends, a psychic named Madeline Rose, called me this morning. She said she thinks the kid's soul was sucked out."

"A soul-sucker?" Sam asked incredulously, "you're kidding, right?"

"Nope," the elder shook his head, "she wants us to check it out. I figured that since we were in the neighborhood we might as well go. What harm could it do anyway?"

Sam shrugged. "How far?"

"To Rivers? Only about 50 miles."

The door opened before Sam even had a chance to touch it. He glanced at his brother, who grinned. "I told you she was psychic," Dean said, pushing past his younger sibling to enter the small shop, "Madi? You in here?"

"I thought I told you last time, Dean, I hate nicknames." A young woman with a dark complexion, pale blue eyes that seemed almost white, and black hair that had been tied back in a long ponytail popped up from behind the long counter that stood by the far wall, her back reflected in the large mirror that hung behind her. Sam noted that she appeared to be in her early thirties, only a few years older than Dean.

"It's good to see you again," the elder hunter grinned, "Sammy, you were too young to remember the last time we saw Madeline."

"Your father was the one who confirmed my parents' theories about my psychic abilities," the young woman explained, smiling to reveal perfectly straight white teeth, "and, Dean, your brother doesn't like nicknames much, either. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Dean just nodded. "How've you been?"

"Better than you two, apparently. I'm sorry about your girlfriend, Sam, your father's disappearance, and your various other problems." She glanced at Dean, her smile faltering a bit, "but you're together now and that's all that truly matters."

Sam looked at the woman, about to ask the major question on his mind.

"Yes," Madeline smiled, turning to him and locking her white eyes with his green ones, "I _do_ know that your brother finds me attractive, but seeing as how he threw mud at me the last time we talked, he doesn't stand a chance."

"I was seven," Dean said defensively, "besides, I've changed."

"Not much," Sam grinned, "you put itching powder in my underwear a few months back. That's pretty childish."

"But I'm so cute," he muttered innocently, trying half-heartedly to produce a sad puppy-dog face.

Madeline laughed. "You know that won't work on me, Dean. I can see right past that adorable expression."

"_Past_ it? I wasn't even aware you'd noticed."

"That was low," she hissed, "even for you."

"Madi's blind," Dean explained, noticing the clueless expression on his younger brother's face, "her sixth sense developed when her sense of sight ceased to exist. Her parents were both gypsies and figured that was probably what was going on, but they still wanted an outside opinion and called dad in. He took us along."

"Your charming brother is the reason I chose to remain single," Madeline grinned, "your father's stories of other psychics are what convinced me to open this shop and try my hand at psychic readings, which is primarily what I do here. That _was_ what you were wondering, right, why anyone would want to do this?"

Sammy shrugged, nodding, "I guess."

"Not everyone's a closet psychic like you. Some people actually embrace this gift, practice it, hone it. You're something special, not some kind of freak. If ever there was a freak in the Winchester family, it would be your brother."

"So, what about this, uh, dead kid?' Dean asked suddenly.

"Subject-changer," Sam, accused before Madeline had a chance to reply.

"You read my mind," she grinned, "the girl's name was Keira Collins. Her mother, Lily, is the one you want to talk to for the inside information on the job. I visited the crime scene, though. My friend on the force lets me help out sometimes. I thought it was odd that the girl hadn't stuck around to see her murderer meet justice."

"You mean that people stay at the scene after their murders?" Sam asked.

"Your mother did, didn't she, for 22 years? But this girl didn't, and kids usually do, so I figured that something was preventing that from happening. I searched the warehouse. No evidence of the paranormal, at least as far as ghosts go."

"As far as ghosts go," Dean nodded, "was there something else?"

"I sensed that something wasn't right. I scoured the area again and found traces of some green residue on the ground."

"What was it?" Sam asked, hoping that he could keep the nagging question in his mind hidden from the experienced psychic.

"A fragment of the girl's soul," Madi replied, "now, have you boys seen 'The Village?'"

"Yes," both answered.

"It's kind of like that, Sam. Any other questions?"

"Just one," Dean smiled, "where's the mother live?"


	3. Chapter 3

"You're sure this is right?" Sam asked as he and Dean stood on the tidy front stoop of the small white house.

"It's the address Madi gave us," the elder hunter nodded, "it's right."

The door, the same color as the house and almost invisible because of it, opened suddenly. "Can I help you gentlemen?" a young woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, stood in the doorway, watching them.

"Um, yes," Dean said, flashing his most charming smile, "I'm officer Teague, and this is my partner, officer Forester. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your daughter if it's not too much trouble."

"I've already talked to the cops," she replied, slowly retreating into the house and closing the door.

"We realize that, ma'am," Sam nodded as Dean stuck his foot in the doorframe in an effort to keep the attractive older woman's attention, "but we need to get the facts straight."

Lily sighed heavily. "Come on in." She opened the door and stood aside so the boys could enter. Reluctantly, she pointed them in the direction of the prim house's sitting room, where they sat in chairs across from the couch where their host chose to settle.

"So, Lily Collins," Dean began, noticing for the first time how beautiful she really was and wanting nothing more than to spent at least one night 'comforting' her, "your daughter Keira-"

"She died in warehouse 58, yes. No known cause. We had a fight just before she died. I can't even remember what we were fighting about now."

"Why would she have gone out to the warehouse?"

She shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe because I had told her a thousand times not to play down there."

"Why?" Sam asked, leaning forward, "why wasn't she allowed to go there?"

Lily smiled slightly through her tears, a small gesture that Dean noticed and interpreted immediately. His shoulders slumped. She'd noticed his brother, caring, compassionate Sammy, and the elder hunter knew that he didn't stand a chance with her now.

"Creeps," she answered, "there's no way to tell who could be out there or what they could want with my daughter. I didn't want her to get hurt."

"And the condition of the body?" Dean questioned.

"What do you mean?"

"How'd she look? Was she all bloody? Cut up? Was she all there?" Lily's eyes widened and Sam stomped on his foot, but Dean knew the question had to be asked. He'd seen the way the attractive woman had looked at him as opposed to Sam, so what if he played bad cop? She wasn't interested in him anyway.

"She was all there," Lily finally replied through sobs as Sam moved to the couch and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, "not a scratch on her, but she was dead. I know she was murdered. Please, find the people who did this."

"We will," Sammy promised, squeezing her shoulders as she leaned up against him, tears streaming down her face, "I promise." He gazed across the room at Dean, his face set, eyes determined.

Dean nodded. "Warehouse 58."


	4. Chapter 4

The flickering lights hanging over the large boards painted with fading black numbers did little to assist the Winchester brothers in their search for warehouse number 58. The fact that Lily Collins had cried on Sammy's shoulder for over an hour before finally letting the men leave didn't help, either. It was already dark in Maine by the time Sam and Dean had found the right building.

"It certainly _looks_ creepy enough to house a soul-sucking witch," Dean commented, pocketing his car keys and joining his brother in digging through the Impala's trunk.

"Madeline said silver bullets would kill it, right?" Sam asked, sorting through the various weapons and ammunition stored in the small, cluttered space.

Dean nodded. "Pure silver. Why?"

"Just making sure. You're positive she knows what she's talking about?"

"She's a family friend, Sam. Our family doesn't exactly make nice with crackpots and quacks. She knows her stuff. Now grab the guns and let's go."

Sammy obeyed, closing up the weapons compartment and tossing his brother a gun. Together, the siblings snuck toward the seemingly-abandoned building. The large corrugated metal door didn't have a lock on it and slid up easily, allowing them entrance.

The first thing Sam noticed as he stepped into the warehouse was the thick layer of dust on the concrete floor, hardly disturbed by the many cops that had investigated the murder. Then, the door slid loudly shut behind him, creating a banging sound as it hit the ground that echoed throughout the warehouse, undoubtedly alerting the creature to their presence. Sam turned hastily around, weapon drawn, flashlight pointing at the dark figure that had caused the ruckus.

"Sorry," Dean shrugged, picking his own gun up off the ground and checking for any damage to the precious bullets nestled inside, "it slipped."

"Sure it did," Sam muttered, "butterfingers."

Dean glared at him as a box far off in the darkened building fell to the floor. "It knows we're here."

"It'd have to be pretty hard of hearing not to," Sammy said, peering cautiously into the blackness of the warehouse, "it's trying to draw us out."

"Trap?"

"Probably," the younger nodded, "but we're gonna check it out anyway, aren't we?"

His brother smirked, which was as good an answer as Sam needed. The two headed slowly in the direction from which the hollow boom of the box had issued.

As they traveled through the rows of old boxes stacked several feet high, Sam noticed that thick dirt not only caked the ground on which they stood, but every box, shelf, and window as well.

"Check it out," Dean mumbled, pointing the beam of his own small flashlight at a clear space in the floor, "no dust. Something cleared it, but there aren't any footprints back here."

"Something that slithered?"

"That's a pretty big snake, Sammy."

Sam sighed, turning around to face his brother as they finally reached the box. "A snake? Come on, Dean, I know she didn't tell us what we were looking for, but I'm pretty sure it's-"

"A creepy old lady in a black robe?" Dean interrupted, shining his flashlight over Sam's head and onto the tall stack of boxes. Sammy turned just as the creature leapt from her perch. Hoping to catch her off-guard, Dean tossed his flashlight in her direction, hitting the soul-sucker square in the forehead.

"Come on," he yelled, grabbing Sam's arm and pulling him from the witch's line of attack as she teetered and regained balance.

The brother's ran through the darkness, neither daring to look over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. Finally, hidden by the shadow cast by another large pile of crates, they stopped to rest.

"Think we lost it?" Dean panted, out of breath, as Sammy peeked around the boxes to gaze into the pitch black building.

"I wouldn't bet on it," a voice seeping with evil hissed from somewhere above them as the black-cloaked witch dropped from the top of the pile, grinning maniacally.

The boys turned to find themselves staring into cold black eyes. Freezing clawed hands grabbed the collars of their shirts, lifting both Winchesters a foot off the ground.

"Any bright ideas?' Sam questioned quietly as the witch opened her mouth wide. Dean fumbled with the safety on his gun as the soul-sucker moved her hands roughly from the boys' shirts to their mouths, forcing them open. She began to inhale as Dean cocked the gun.

The creature breathed deeply, smiling inwardly as pale yellow vapor issued from the mouth of her tallest victim. She almost laughed out loud when she heard the click of the gun as deep purple mist from the shortest filled her mouth and nostrils.

Her triumph was short-lived, however. A loud gunshot echoed through the building and the witch screamed, expelling the souls of her victims and sending them back into the boys; bodies. The wounded creature, still shrieking, fled the scene, dropping both brothers back to the floor as she did so.

Dean raised his head groggily. Something felt different. _Well,_ he thought, _you came close to getting your soul sucked out. That doesn't exactly happen every day._ He struggled to his feet, a little dizzy, and shook his head. Something soft and feathery flapped around his ears, forehead, and the back of his neck. _Cobwebs?_

"Come on, Sammy," Dean muttered, groping around the dark floor and pulling his brother up. His voice sounded funny, different somehow, but he figured the witch had done some damage to his vocal chords while nearly strangling him. "Gotta go before it comes back."

Sam mumbled something unintelligible and followed his brother quickly through the thick darkness. They reached the unlocked door and slid it up, heading out into more darkness. Sam stumbled slowly to the car while Dean began digging in his pockets for his keys.

He was aware that Sam was watching him, staring, obviously waiting for the elder to unlock the car doors. There was just one problem: Dean couldn't find his keys. His pockets were empty except for…

"Sammy, why do I have your cell phone?"

"Better question," Sam replied, the sound of his voice making Dean's blood run cold, "why do you have my body?"

Dean looked up and saw, under the flickering glow of the warehouse lights, a man in his late 20's with short sandy hair and bright hazel eyes. He was holding a key ring with the keys to the Impala on it in his hand.

"Give me the keys," Dean instructed, hoping his own dull level of panic was showing through as he slowly realized what was so different about his voice, "and get in the car."

Sammy did as he was told easily, leaning back in the passenger seat and buckling the safety belt. His brother, on the other hand, had a little more trouble. He stumbled in, moved the seat back an inch or two, and slammed the door.

"Dean," Sam began, but his brother cut him off.

"Not here. Just wait. Time to think."

The car fell silent and Dean started the engine, looking into the rearview mirror and shuddering as scared green eyes gazed steadily back at him.


	5. Chapter 5

The drive from warehouse 58 to the Lucky 7 Inn ("not as good as the Super 8, but better than Motel 6," Dean had said earlier) only took about 30 minutes. To the Impala's two passengers, however, it had seemed to take a lifetime.

The door to the room swung open easily and the brothers entered, neither daring to even look at the other. Sam closed the door, locking it behind him, and stood beside his brother, facing him, in the darkness. Both boys had their heads down.

"On the count of three?" Dean asked, his hand hovering over the light switch. Sam nodded. "One…"

"Two…"

"Three!" Both heads snapped up as the lights in the room flashed on and the siblings locked eyes for a brief moment.

"Whoa," Sam muttered, looking his brother up and down before taking a step to his left. Dean stepped to his left as well.

"Got that right."

The brothers circled each other, hardly speaking, each trying to comprehend what had happened. It was like looking in a mirror. Finally, they both stood stationary, just staring blankly at each other, the reality of the situation finally starting to dink in. Dean shook his head, long hair flapping around his face as he did so, "this can't be good."

"Got that right."

Slowly, uneasily, knowing what they would see but still afraid to confirm their private thoughts, the two approached the large mirror hanging opposite the beds and stared at their reflections.

"It's creepy," Sam muttered, "like we-"

"Switched bodies or something," Dean nodded, gingerly touching his face, his _brother's_ face. It was too weird.

"Is that even possible?"

"Dunno," Dean shrugged, "but it's unsettling."

"Not something you see every day."

"Like a bad episode of a cartoon show."

Sam glanced at his brother, trying to repress a shudder as he looked up at the man for the first time since that adolescent growth spurt of so long ago, about to make a joke about the fearless hunter watching "Dora the Explorer," but decided to state a simple fact first. "Dude, you're short."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're just freakishly tall?"

Sammy grinned, realizing he'd struck a nerve. "Nope. You're just short. Where're you going?"

Dean was walking slowly off toward the bathroom door, running his hands through the long brown hair his brother had grown in spite of their father's wishes to cut it. "I'm gonna go take a shower, if you don't mind. For some odd reason I feel really scummy."

Sam sighed. "Fine. Just keep your hands to yourself, all right, Dean?"

His brother stopped in the doorway to the bathroom, staring fixedly at his hands. "Technically," he muttered, "they're _your_ hands." He entered the room and slammed the door.

Sammy shook his head and smiled, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds. _Leave it to Dean to try to find humor in a situation like this. _At least, Sam _hoped_ it was humor.

From his spot on the bed he could still see his reflection. The hazel eyes, the short hair, the leather jacket with the popped-up collar, the necklace, everything he'd come to associate with his brother. It was his now.

The digital clock told him it was almost eleven. Sam figured he'd lay down, try to catch some sleep, shower in the morning, and then attack this latest problem with a clear mind. He slipped off his brother's jacket and threw it on a near-by chair, then slid the necklace from around his neck and laid it on the bedside table. Dean would probably want it back.

As the shower came on, Sam laid back on the bed and closed his eyes. His _brother's _eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

The dark eyes scanned the computer screen, searching for anything that could be relevant. The thin face was set, determined, the lips parting only to mouth out the names of websites that housed information about body switching. Soft snores issued from the small room's other bed as its occupant stirred, half-awake.

"Sammy," he muttered groggily, "I had the weirdest dream. We were in a warehouse and this witch attacked us, and-"

"It sucked out our souls, you shot it, and we wound up switching bodies? Hate to burst your bubble, but that wasn't a dream," Sam interrupted, finally tearing his eyes from the laptop's glowing screen.

"Oh, no, I know that was real. But in the dream the witch started singing country tunes and then you and I hopped into a bright orange car, shouted some country saying, and then jumped a gorge."

Sam turned back to the computer. "You know, Dean, I think that's a sign."

"Really?' Dean asked, sitting up in bed and stretching, "what's it mean?"

"You need to stop watching CMT," Sammy grinned, hitting the 'enter' key and finding a webpage dedicated to the shtriga legend. He groaned. "Youth suckers, but nothing that can suck out a person's actual soul."

"Maybe you're not looking hard enough," Dean suggested, standing up and wandering toward the room's big mirror to gaze at his new reflection, "scroll down. And maybe try to work out a bit more on the weekends. Getting kind of flabby here, Sam."

Sam muttered something about midnight M&M runs, but did as he was told, and finally found what he'd been searching for since finishing his six o'clock shower. "They don't have a proper name," he reported, "but these soul-sucking witches are distant cousins to the shtriga. They kill you right away, though, no dawdling. It's vulnerable when eating, too."

"That doesn't sound too promising."

"It gets worse. No one's ever survived an attack. We're the first. If we want to get out of this I guess we have to find out how all on our own."

"Great. One question."

Sam closed the laptop and laid back on the bed. "What?"

"How do you deal with this hair? It's annoying."

Sam grinned and looked at his brother who, after pulling a torn-up pair of jeans on over his boxers and slipping an old shirt over head, had returned to the mirror and was trying unsuccessfully to clear the tangled mess of hair from his eyes. "Yeah, well, you're short."

Dean stopped messing with his hair and smirked, an unnatural expression on that face. "Gonna have to do better than that, Sammy. You told me the same thing last night."

Sam closed his eyes as his grin broadened. "I wasn't talking about your height."

His brother's good-natured expression faltered. "All right, smartass, if that's how you want to play," he mumbled, walking quickly up to the bedside table to grab his necklace before swiping his jacket from the chair, taking the car keys, and leaving the room.

_Let him go fume,_ Sam thought to himself, sliding off the bed as the Impala's loud engine faded into the distance. He had something he had to do, anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

"You really think I can get into Harvard, daddy?" the young teenage girl asked the heavy man whose arm she was hanging on as passed Sam on the sidewalk in front of Madeline's shop.

"Sure, honey," the man, obviously her father, replied, though a tad doubtfully.

Sam watched them walk by, rubbing his head as it began to throb, probably from the five hours spent sitting in the dark staring at a computer screen. He suddenly had a pretty good feeling that the girl would make it into the school of her dreams, but the course load would prove to be too much for her and she would drop out before the end of her first semester.

As the brief headache and the nausea that followed it passes, Sammy turned up Madeline's front walk. Again, the door swung open before he'd even gotten close to it.

"Madi?" he called out, entering the shop, "you here?"

"Of course I'm here," she smiled, walking out of a back room and wiping her hands on a small dish towel, "and I know I told your brother that I hate nicknames. You of all people should know how annoying that is, Sammy."

His mouth dropped open. "How'd you-?"

"You may have your brother's body, but it's still _your_ mind. I knew it was from a block away. Besides, appearance doesn't matter much to me, and I hope it doesn't to you, either."

"What's that mean?"

The female psychic set the towel on the counter and ushered Sam into the room from which she'd come. It was a small office, and she offered him a seat. "Do you know where your brother is?"

"Well, no," Sam said, sitting down. Madi pulled up another chair and sat beside him, smiling. "Why?"

She shrugged. "Just wondering. Now, why'd you travel all this way? And don't say it's because you wanted to walk a mile in your brother's shoes. That's the kind of comment I would expect from Dean."

Sam grinned. "No, I needed to ask you something about what happened. Is this thing new in town?"

"The witch? No, there was one other death a few years back. I think it was the same one, but I can't be sure. This time was different, though. It was a child. I'm truly sorry that this happened to you and your brother."

"Is there any way we can fix it?" Sam asked, running his hands through his short hair and sighing.

"The only way out, I'm afraid, is the way you came." Sammy raised an eyebrow in confusion. Madi smiled warmly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to speak in riddles. The only way to get back where you belong is to go back. You need to do it again."

"Do what again?"

"Be attacked. Draw out the soul-sucker and make sure it attacks you both at the same time again. When it's feeding, one of you needs to shoot it. That should release your souls from its grasp."

"And we'll switch back?"

"Possibly. It's really a gamble, Sam, and I wouldn't count on it if I were you. Really, it would be safer if you and Dean just killed the thing and left town. It's not like your brother's body is terminally ill, I would assume you're both attractive, and there's only a four year difference between you. Would it really be that terrible to have to live out the rest of your life in your brother's body?"

Sam stood up, sending the chair tumbling to the floor behind him. "Yes, it would! I can't live the rest of my life as my brother."

"You wouldn't have to," Madeline explained, "you boys travel enough that no one truly knows you. They'd believe you if you told them your name was Sam Winchester. As long as your brother graduated high school, you can still go back to college. No one would know, Sam."

"_I _would. Dean would. Dad would have to, but I'm not sure how well he'd take it."

"Why don't you run both ideas by your brother. See what he thinks, and then make a final decision. Either risk your lives with the uncertainty of getting killed or being stuck like this anyway, or just kill the witch and get on with your lives. It should be unanimous, though."

Sam hung his head. "I'll see what he thinks, but it won't matter. I'm not staying like this, and neither is he." Sighing heavily, he thanked her and left the shop. It was a long walk back to the inn in his brother's battered old shoes.

Lily Collins was pleasantly surprised when the cute police officer from the day before, officer Forrester, rang her doorbell. She was even more surprised when he complemented her for her courage, bravery, and good looks. She was also surprised when he asked if he could come in, even happier when the few words of conversational small talk led to more. She wasn't surprised, however, to find out how incredibly skilled he was at what they did when the door was locked and the bedroom lights had been turned down low.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam was starting to get worried. It had been almost noon when Dean had left the room, and he still wasn't back. He normally didn't start worrying about his brother until the older man had been gone for at least seven hours, but this time it was different. It was personal. Dean had his body. It was almost five, and Sam was pacing the room, wondering where the hell was and what the hell he could be doing for almost five hours without bothering to call.

Outside, a loud motor rumbled by, coming increasingly closer to the room. Sammy ran to the window and pulled back the thick curtains. _The Impala. _Finally.

The youngest member of the Winchester family laid down on one of the beds, closing his eyes and feigning sleep, as the motel room door opened and Dean entered.

"Stop faking, Sam, I know you're awake."

"How?" Sam asked without bothering to open his eyes.

"You snore. Loud. Now get up, I was thinking that maybe Madi would know what we're dealing with. We should go see her." A door closed and Sammy opened his eyes. Dean had gone into the bathroom.

"Already taken care of," he said, sitting up and gazing into the mirror, "she said that the only way back is the way we came."

"Huh?" Dean asked, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

"That's what I said," Sam smiled, picking at a small scab on the back of his hand, "apparently it means that if we want to get back to normal we need to let the thing almost eat us again. If we shoot it while it's eating, it can suck out our souls and then send them back, hopefully into the right bodies."

"_Hopefully_? I don't suppose there's a door number two anywhere, is there?"

"We just kill the thing and leave. It won't help _us_ any, but it'll get rid of the killer witch."

"But," Dean reasoned, raising his voice as the sound of running water became audible through the closed door, "if we have to wait for it to suck out our souls it could end up killing us."

Sam sighed, pulling his attention away from the scab as the bathroom door opened. "Yeah, Madi says _you cut my hair?_"

"How'd she know about that?" Dean asked, walking casually up to the mirror and running his hands through the untidy brown hair. It wasn't as short as he usually kept his own, but a lot shorter than Sam would have liked. "What do you think?"

"I think you cut my hair."

"Yeah, it was getting in the way. Be thankful I left it this long, I really would like it shorter, but I figured this probably wouldn't be a permanent arrangement. Besides, it stays out of my face if I mess it up like this. Looks kind of cowlicky, but who cares. Not like it's actually mine."

"But you cut my hair."

"Yeah, and you made fun of my… _height_. What's the matter, Sammy, don't you like it?"

"You cut my hair. I _liked_ my hair, Dean. You can't just go off and change the way I look. It's not right. All I did was crack a joke."

"Relax, you can grow it back out. It's not like I went out and got a tattoo or anything. Besides, Lily liked it."

Sam looked at his brother as Dean sat down on the other bed, ruffling his hair with a contented smirk on his face. "You went to see Lily?"

"No," the elder replied, his playful smirk growing mischievous, "_you_ went to go see Lily. She had a great time, by the way."

"Doing what?"

Dean laid back on the bed, closing his eyes and sighing. "Take a wild guess, Psychic Wonder."

Sammy had an idea, though the thought of actually vocalizing it made him sick to his stomach. The chance that his brother may confirm it scared him even more. "Dean, you didn't. _Please_ tell me you didn't."

His older sibling's smirk faded to be replaced by a satisfied smile. "Oh, I did."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed, unable to suppress a disgusted shudder. "You had sex with her?" Dean nodded. "You, uh," Sammy struggled, not sure how to explain the delicate situation to his brother, "without my permission."

Dean chuckled. "Come on, Sam, it's not like you're sick. It could be worse. You could have been a virgin." He broke out into a brief gale of hearty laughter. "Why aren't you laughing with me, Sammy?" His brother just sat on the edge of the bed, silently fuming. "No. You're not…"

"Not any more," Sam growled, "thanks a load, Dean."

Dean laughed again. "Yeah, all right, nice joke, man. I _know_ you and Jess must have, at least once." Sam shook his head. "So, you're telling me that you had never… with anyone?" Another negative. "Huh. Well, then."

"This isn't funny, Dean."

"Oh, come on. One of these days we'll look back and laugh. Besides, how many guys can actually say that their brother lost their virginity for them?"

Without a word, Sam propelled himself off the bed and ran from the room, grabbing the car keys as he went. He didn't know where he was going, just knew that he had to get away. He couldn't stand to look at that foreign smirk on his less-than-shaggy face anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

When the need for an escape became too great to ignore in the past, Sam had driven to a quiet place, far removed from society, to gather his thought and seriously think about his life. Back at school he'd found that the janitor's closet was a great place to do just that, especially after the janitor had been fired. Since going out on the road with his brother, however, he'd found it increasingly difficult to get away, especially when in a new and unfamiliar town.

So he went straight to Madeline's small shop, hoping to find refuge until he could wrap his mind around Dean's insensitivity. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to tell the psychic, was actually pretty sure that he didn't want her to know anything at all, but had no where else to go. He headed up the front walk as the door swung open.

"Didn't expect to see you here again," Madeline commented as Sam walked through the door and crossed the room to lean up against the counter, "you left in kind of a huff."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

Madi shrugged. "No problem. I got on your nerves. That happens a lot with me. Did you talk to Dean?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"No, but I find that asking is a lot nicer than blurting out a bunch of personal information. What brings you by?"

Sam shook his head. "You say that like you really have no idea. It's Dean."

"He wants to try and make things right?"

"No, Madi, he messed up my life. And he did it without warning."

"He's in your body," the woman smiled, "that should have given you a heads-up. And if it's just about the hair-thing, Sam, you know it looks fine and it'll grow back out."

"It's not just the hair-thing," he lowered his voice, "it's the sex-thing. I don't mind if he's humping everything in sight in his own body, but _mine_? That's a totally different matter."

Madi actually laughed. "You really need to relax, Sammy. Laugh a little. It couldn't hurt. It's not his fault if he made a mistake, he just-"

"He sure makes a lot of them," Sam mumbled, "a _whole_ lot."

Madeline's expression softened and she grabbed his hand. "You can't blame him for these things," she said solemnly, her voice barely a whisper, "especially if he didn't know."

"I really don't think he cares, Madi. In fact, he's probably laughing it up back at the inn, just having a grand old time. And he probably _did_ get a tattoo. At least I care about this problem. At least I'm trying to find a way to fix it."

"You think this doesn't worry him? You think he hasn't lost sleep? He was up half the night, Sammy, tossing and turning, just trying to remember if your father ever mentioned anything at all about soul-suckers. He searched the web, that beat-up old journal, _everything_. He even made a midnight library run. He's scared, too, he just deals with it differently. Humor and jokes. Maybe a little fun on the side. It's how he copes."

"He doesn't cope. He ignores the issue and torments me. He's not like other people."

"No," she muttered sadly, shaking her head, "he's not. And you still haven't seen that."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"There are a lot of things you can see when you look at someone, Sam," Madeline said as she took his hand and ushered him out the door, "a true soul isn't one of them." The door shut in his face, the lock turning of its own accord, and the shop fell dark.

Sam stood outside the psychic's small store for a few moments before returning to the car and heading back to the inn, still a little reluctant to face his brother.


	10. Chapter 10

The first thing the young hunter saw when he opened the door was his old familiar face, sans Dean's trademark smirk. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

Sam's jaw dropped, his eyes growing wide. He couldn't remember ever hearing an apology from his older brother. "You're _what?_"

"I was a jerk," Dean shrugged, "but, I mean, come on, you had to have been sleeping with Jessica, right? You _had_ to have been."

"As hard as it apparently is for you to believe, Dean," Sam grinned, walking past his brother and plopping down on the bed, "some people wait until _after_ they get married. I know it must sound like an impossibility to you, but it _does_ happen."

"That's funny. Really. No hard feelings?"

Sammy closed his eyes. "Sure, as long as there aren't any more _hard feelings_ between you and Lily until we get this mess figured out."

Dean laid down on his own bed and chuckled, "Deal. So, you want to go after it again? Try to kill it?"

"After it tried to kill us, yeah. We can't live like this forever. I can't stand the way I look with short hair, it just doesn't feel right."

"Well, if we pull this off," Dean muttered, yawning, "you won't have to worry about it. With luck, everything will end up all right."

"Yeah, sure," Sam agreed, his eyelids growing heavy. He had just enough time to glance at the clock and realize he'd been driving around, avoiding returning to the room, for almost four hours before he drifted slowly off to sleep.

The shorter man ran through the shadows of the cemetery, jumping over grave markers as his long hair flew back slightly in the breeze, hitting him gently in the eyes. Cold sweat cascaded down his brow.

Up ahead, he could see the silhouette of his brother, a silhouette that had been his own until that long-ago fateful day.

He caught up to the other man, panting and looking over his shoulder as he tripped over a tombstone and went tumbling down onto the cold, unforgiving earth. Strong hands grabbed his arm and yanked him up.

Sam turned, still out of breath, to gaze up into his brother's eyes, eyes that had once been his. "You think it gave up?" he asked, scanning the graveyard.

Dean sighed, running a hand through the short brown hair that he had slowly and reluctantly come to call his own. "Wouldn't be the first time. Who'd you trip over?"

Sammy glanced down at the polished stone. "Alice Marie Carver. Sorry, hon."

His brother smirked, an expression that still seemed foreign on that face. "We'll catch up with it eventually. We'll kill it. Things'll get back to normal. Well, as normal as they can get when our family's involved. Come on, let's get back to the motel."

The two headed back into the shadows of the cemetery, suffering yet another temporary setback at the hands of the soul-sucker.


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing he was aware of was the date. The date of the hunt, the date on the tombstone. That horrible realization was quickly followed by a sharp pain in his head that didn't exactly clear up when Sam swung his legs out from under the covers and took a look around the room. His brother was still asleep, his hair tousled and messy and the only part visible under the heap of blankets he had piled on during the night.

"Dean?" Sam ventured cautiously as the lump in the bed stirred, "Dean, I had a dream."

"Good for you, Sammy. Oh, hey, do you get cold a lot?"

"Sometimes," Sam replied, raising an eyebrow in confusion and annoyance, "why?"

"Cause I am _freezing_! Feels like it's twenty below in here."

"Well, I got hot during the night. I turned the air up."

Dean sighed and rolled out of the bed, fully dressed in jeans, socks, and a heavy sweatshirt. "To think, all the time I wasted sleeping in my boxers and I could have just turned up the air on you. Man, I really am an awesome brother."

"An awesome brother who lost my virginity," Sam muttered under his breath.

Dean seemed to not have heard. "So, what was the dream about? It had better be something big to wake me up like that. It was just me and Jessica Alba, all alone on a nude beach…"

"Spare the details, please. You and I were running through a cemetery, only I was you and you were me. I think we were out there looking for the witch, but it wound up chasing us and then running off."

"So we can find it in a graveyard?"

Sam shook his head. "Not yet. Not for a while."

"What makes you say that?" Dean asked as he adjusted the room's thermostat.

"When we were running my hair was hitting me in the face. I'd grown it out."

"Well that can be done in a couple of months," the elder stated, trying to unsuccessfully visualize what he'd look like with longer hair.

"That's not all. I tripped over a tombstone and got a good look at the dates. The woman had died in 2011, Dean. That's nearly five years from now. If this dream comes true we're going to be stuck like this for a long time. We can't let that happen."

"No," Dean agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his vibrating cell phone, "we can't. We can ask Madi how to make sure that dream doesn't come true. Apparently, she wants to talk to us."


	12. Chapter 12

"Why isn't the door opening?" Sam asked as he stood, peeking I through the thick glass, "and why aren't the lights on?"

"Maybe she isn't here yet," his brother suggested, shrugging, "or maybe she's in trouble. Maybe she was tricking us."

"Maybe she's dead."

"Oh, if I was dead," Madeline replied from behind them as the door swung open, "you boys would know. You'd be the first ones I'd tell."

"What took you?" Dean asked as she brushed past him and into the shop turning on the lights with a wave of her delicate hand.

"I had to pick something up," she explained, "a kind of present for you boys for being such good sports through all of this. I mean, it _is_ kind of my fault you're in this whole mess."

"What is it?" Sam asked. The woman's hands were empty and her car was nowhere to be seen.

"Turn around," a familiar voice said. Sam moaned as his brother's eyebrows shot up in shock. Their father's brand of help was certainly the last thing they needed, especially since hunts with the older man usually included insults, yelling, and a truckload of uncomfortable silences.

"Dad," Dean began, "boy, do we have a lot to catch up on."

"Later, Sammy," John replied as his sons turned around, trying to hide the new shock that had arrived at their father's use of Sam's much-hated nickname, "right now I need you to help me unload some stuff. Oh, you cut your hair? I like it. It looks nice."

"Thanks," Dean grinned, elbowing his brother, "I told you. _He _doesn't like it."

"Dean," the eldest hunter scolded, "compliment your brother's hair. It may not be perfect, but at least he doesn't look like a sheepdog anymore."

"Wait," Sam began, "you thought I… _he_ looked like a sheepdog?"

"Yeah," he turned to Dean, "you were a shaggy mess there, son. Now help me unload the stuff. Dean, why don't you go talk to Madeline, see if anything else has come up."

Both boys nodded and headed off, Dean toward the shop and Sam with his father.

"What's wrong with you?' John asked, annoyed, "Dean, go talk to Madi. Sammy, come on."

Sam turned his back on his father and headed into the shop as Dean passed him, walking down the sidewalk and muttering, "_right_. I am Sam. Sam I am."

"You didn't tell him?" Sammy hissed as he caught up to Madi, who was busy rooting through a bookcase in her office, "why didn't you tell him?"

"I figured it wasn't my place."

"But it's OK for you to call him?"

She smiled. "Of course. That' what friends are for. I had a very interesting dream last night, one that gave me the feeling you two might be needing a little help on this job if you ever want things to be right again."

"Let me guess," Sam sighed, "Dean and I were running through a cemetery about five years from now?"

"Yes, actually. Did you see it, too?"

"Yeah. But why didn't you just tell our dad we'd," he lowered his voice as Dean and John approached the door, their hands full of books and weapons, "switched bodies?"

"And ruin a perfectly awkward father-son moment? Forget it, Sammy, this is how I get my kicks."

"What's how you get your kicks?" Dean grunted, throwing a large pile of books down on the room's single desk.

"You'll see," the blind woman smiled, bringing another chair around by the desk.

"Sammy," John muttered, entering the room with his arms full of various knives, guns, and an assortment of books and papers, "I've been meaning to ask you something. Why are you wearing your brother's necklace?"

"Oh, well…." Dean began, scratching his head.

"He won it. From me. In a game of…. Poker. He had to promise he'd give it back by Christmas, though." Sam jumped in, smiling broadly and hoping his father bought the obviously made-up story.

"I guess that makes sense," John shrugged, though his eyes seemed doubtful, "help me sort through this stuff, will you, boys?"

"Dad," Dean sighed, "he's lying."

"What?" Sam glared at him.

"No, Sammy. We've gotta tell him. It's the only way he can help. We need him to shoot it _while_ it's eating. He's going to need to wait until we're almost dead, and if we don't explain this, he won't have any reason to."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. His brother had a point, but how do you explain to someone, even someone as well-versed in the supernatural as their father, that two people switched bodies? It's not exactly an everyday occurrence.

"What are you talking about?" John asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, though they seemed somehow enlightened, and even bright, laughing. It was almost like he know. "And why'd you call him Sammy?"

Dean took a step away from his father. "You might want to sit down for this, dad. It's unbelievable, even for us." His father took a seat by Madi, who smiled encouragingly. "Sam and I kind of…" he trailed off, trying to think of a way to logically explain the events of the witch hunt.

"There was a witch," Sam said, "a soul-sucker. I don't know if Madeline tried to contact you, but she called us. A little girl was killed in a warehouse, her soul was sucked out of her. When we went to investigate we found it. It grabbed both of us, held us up, tried to kill us. Dean shot it, though, and we got away."

"But when we got back to the car," Dean added, "we realized something was wrong. We, uh, weren't exactly ourselves. I know it doesn't seem possible, but we switched bodies somehow. I'm Dean."

John stared at them, his intelligent eyes flicking from one to the other, judging them, taking in their story. "Sam," he said, pointing at the shorter of his two sons, "and Dean," he pointed to the tallest. Both nodded. "You cut your brother's hair. Did he give you his permission?"

"No, sir," Dean mumbled, averting his eyes.

"Well, that's the least of our worries, now, isn't it?" John replied, his voice rising, "how could you have let this happen? How could you have been so stupid? You just _let_ it attack you?"

"It took us by surprise," Sam defended, "it was an accident. No one's fault. But Madi thinks she knows how to fix it."

"We'll need your help to do that, Mr. Winchester," the female psychic nodded, "but we need your full cooperation."

John sighed. He could easily wrap his mind around the fact that his sons had switched bodies, just as he had been able to wrap his mind around the fact that his wife had burned on the ceiling. It was the fact that it had been _allowed_ to happen. Why had Dean waited so long to shoot the thing? Had Sam even _tried_ to shoot?

"Fine," he nodded after considering, "but why do you need me?"

"Not only do they need to switch back," Madi explained, "they need to kill the soul-sucker, too. In order to do both, they need to use themselves as bait. As soon as it attacks and begins eating them they need to shoot it. Like the shtriga, it's only vulnerable while feeding. If it's killed while both of their souls are hanging there, they should return to the right bodies."

"_Should?_" John asked, "what if they don't?"

"It's like I told Sam earlier. Those boys are lucky they're both pretty. If this doesn't work out for them at least no one has to take a step down on the female food chain."

"Yeah, Dean's already established that," Sam mumbled bitterly.

John either hadn't heard his youngest son or hadn't wanted to. "So you want me to shoot it?"

"While it's feeding," Dean nodded, "not before. Not after. I know how protective you can get, but you need to wait."

"How will I know?"

"Easy," Madeline said matter-of-factly, "a human's soul outside of its body appears as a colored vapor, looking much like a demon as it's exorcised. Once you see the vapor you can shoot, but it has to be far enough out of their bodies. Understand?"

"If it isn't far enough out?"

"It will go right back in and your boys will be stuck."

John sighed. "Where is it and how do I kill it?"


	13. Chapter 13

"This place is even dark in the daytime," Dean noted as he and Sam stood in the middle of the warehouse, waiting patiently for the soul-sucker to rear its ugly head, "how long has it been since the maid cleaned? If she was _my_ maid, I'd-"

"Bang her in my body?" Sam interrupted, cheerfully.

"I was gonna say I would fire her, _then_ have fun. Less chance for a lawsuit."

"Oh, you _are_ the master."

"Got that right," Dean smirked.

"Boys," their father hissed from his hiding place in the warehouse rafters, "keep it clean, please. I really don't need to hear about this."

"Sorry," they both whispered as something far off in the warehouse clunked loudly behind them. The brothers turned to find that a small tennis shoe had fallen into one of aisles of boxes and crates.

Slowly, Dean approached the shoe, keeping his eyes open for the soul-sucker as he did so. It appeared to be the shoe of a young girl, white and pink with a big picture of Hilary Duff on the side. He turned and looked up the aisle to find the witch staring at him, her eyes gleaming hollowly in dark sockets.

"So good to see you again," she hissed, pushing Dean back down the aisle, where he ran into Sam, knocking him to the ground, "I do so hate to leave a meal unfinished." Slowly, she slid over the dirty floor, getting closer to her intended victims, not finding it suspicious at all that they weren't running. They both seemed to be unconscious.

John gulped back his fear. He wasn't scared for himself, was hardly ever scared for himself nowadays. It was his boys. Sam… no, _Dean_ had been thrown back through the building and had collided with his brother. The plan had been to stay put, but he hadn't been able to resist the urge to investigate the shoe.

Now both of his sons were lying on the cold ground, their eyes closed. Were they faking, or really in trouble? Did he need to abandon the plan and save them?

The witch grew closer, grabbing the boys' clothes in her grimy hands and lifting them off the floor. John felt helpless as he raised his gun and waited. The vapor, he needed to wait to see the vapor. But what if couldn't from his vantage point? What if he was positioned at the wrong angle? What if his sons died because of his own inability to protect them?

Finally, from Dean's mouth (or was it Sam's?) he noticed the first hint of a pale yellow smoke, just a little bit, but enough for him to tighten his grip on the gun and correct his aim. The witch inhaled deeply, drawing more yellow mist from his son's mouth and causing purple vapor to leak from the other's nostrils.

_Now or never,_ John thought as both colors swirled and entered the witch's mouth. He pulled the trigger, launching a silver bullet straight at the creature's heart. The precious metal made contact, ripping through the creature's chest and embedding itself deeply in the warehouse wall.

The witch released his sons, who fell to the floor in a heap as the colored vapors returned to their bodies. He just hoped that everything had gone as plan and the souls had returned to their rightful owners.

The soul-sucker began to stagger, clutching at her chest and shrieking with unearthly power and volume as she disintegrated and fell to the ground beside Sam and Dean, turning to black dust as her cloaked body hit concrete.

John smiled. It was over. He wished he could stick around and see how things had worked out for his boys, but there a werewolf in the Rockies howling his name. he climbed slowly down from his place in the rafters and walked up to his sons. They were out of it. Maybe that was for the best.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean opened his eyes. At least, he _hoped _they were his eyes. His head hurt and his back throbbed. That witch had done quite a number on him in a very short amount of time.

He looked around, not trusting himself to sit up just yet, and saw that he was back in the motel room. The shower was running, which meant Sam had already woken up. Or, maybe their father had decided to stay a few days, but that seemed unlikely.

Convincing himself it was for the best, Dean sat up, his head spinning, and looked in the mirror. Never in his life had he been so glad to see those haunted hazel eyes staring back at him. He rushed up to the mirror, ignoring the nagging pain in his back and the dizziness that threatened to topple him. He just wanted to touch his face.

The shower turned off as Dean turned his attention to other things, checking for any new piercing or tattoos Sam might gotten as payback. Nothing seemed out of place or new, and, just as an afterthought, he checked on something else.

_Liar,_ the hunter thought to himself as Sam stepped out of the bathroom, soaking wet, _I'm not short. And he should know short._

"How do you feel?" Sam asked, rummaging through the duffel bag for his clothes.

"Like a truck hit me. You?"

Sammy grinned. "Tall. You call dad yet?"

"He's not here?" Dean asked, though he wasn't surprised. It wasn't like their dad to stick around long, especially if no one's life was in immediate danger.

"What do you think? He hightailed it after killing the witch, though he was nice enough to bring us back here." Sam walked up to the mirror, checking his reflection and smiling. "Man, it's good to be back, but I still can't believe you cut my hair."

"Well, now you can start the laborious process of growing it back out," Dean smirked, heading into the bathroom, "now, if you'll please excuse me, I need to take a shower. I feel scummy again."

"Hey, Dad. It's Dean. That's right, straight from your oldest son's mouth. Everything turned out all right. We're just saying good-bye to Madi now. Listen, thanks for helping us out back there. It was nice to see you again. Hey, don't be afraid to call once and a while, all right? I swear, we won't use cell towers to track your location. Sam says thanks, too. Anyway, bye."

Dean flipped the phone shut and headed into Madeline's shop to meet his brother and bid farewell to their psychic friend.

"Well?" Sam asked as he walked through the door.

"Voicemail," Dean nodded.

"Your father's in Colorado," Madi said, "hunting a werewolf. That's why he had to leave so soon. People were dying. It has nothing to do with you. He loves you both, he really does."

"Sure," Sammy scoffed.

"Madi," Dean began, "I just wanted to thank you for the help, even though the whole thing really _was_ your fault."

"No problem," she muttered, walking up and kissing him, "that was for the road, and to keep all those dirty thoughts about me out of your head."

Sam laughed. "Nothing on earth can keep dirty thoughts out of Dean's head. He's never been a very clean person. I think he even used to fantasize about Barney."

Madi raised an eyebrow. "More than I needed to know," she grinned, "now you boys really should hit the road if you want to make it to Ohio by nightfall. Be careful, all right?"

The brothers nodded and left, slightly confused. "What's in Ohio?" Sam asked as Dean's cell phone rang.

The elder shrugged and answered his phone, nodding as he tried to translate the garbled panic on the other end of the line. "Chupacabras," he answered slowly, shoving his phone back in his pocket, "traveling with a circus,. One got out and is rampaging in a small town. In Ohio."

The Impala's engine roared to life as Sam and Dean Winchester left the town of Rivers, Maine, behind, heading for Ohio and the rogue goat-sucker that was causing mass panic.

* * *

Well, that's it. Please don't forget to review! 


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